


A Savage Place as Holy and Enchanted...

by laudanum_and_wine



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Angst, Declarations Of Love, F/M, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Karen is an ancient of wrath, M/M, Matt is an ancient of seduction, Mostly Fluff, Multi, Romance, nudity is funny actually, tags will get more complex as chapters evolve, these three need good times
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-04-01 15:58:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4026019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laudanum_and_wine/pseuds/laudanum_and_wine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone needs to learn how to relax, and there have to be good days. Wherein our three Avocados relax a little, angst a little, and remember that for every terrible day and horror they face there's a pair (or two) of warm arms that they can come home to. Short slice-of-life moments for our intrepid trio. Some chapters will be fluffy, others angst and crying. I'm sorry, with these three it's inevitable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Essentially incapable of being cool.

When she had come on with the firm, if they could call it that, she had seemed kind, pretty, and not too terribly much more. She wasn't a fighter, or a nurse, or a lawyer. She wasn't anything special, which she reminded them on occasion. On most of those occasions someone would hush her, or kiss her, or just shake their head saying "No," repeatedly. But the more he thought about it the more uncomfortable Foggy became with that thought, that she wasn't special. Compared to Matt, no one was special. They were all boring little ping-pong balls bouncing along their dull flat lives. Which is why Foggy really didn't like the comparison, didn't like the thought that she held herself to some standard level of cool. 

Okay, it was possible some portion of that dislike was his fear that somewhere there was a coolness scale they were held to, in which he place dead last. But Karen, she was beyond amazing. She was perfect, she was everything.

They'd been showering when he'd realized it. It hadn't been as sexy as it sounded, something about nudity still gave him the giggles, and after he had pulled the “Oh my god is that a spider in your hair?!” joke one too many times Karen had demanded he turn around. 

“Nooo, you face the wall Mister. You are not allowed to be a jerk for the rest of the shower. I got shampoo in my eye this last time.” She pulled him by the shoulders, pointing him at the back tiles of the shower. 

“Fine. But Matt has spiders in here, I'm telling you.” Karen had started rubbing Foggy's back with soap and his words came from around a smile. 

“I do not have spiders.” Matt was shaving over the sink, mirror fogged over in front of him, damp hair still mussed from his shower. 

“But how would you know if you did? You don't know the ceiling isn't ringed by cobwebs, and we're just to polite to point it out.” Karen traces a long vertical line down his spine, making Foggy lean back into her slightly. 

“I would hear them, Foggy.”

“You would hear spiders. You would hear- You know Matt, I do not believe you, there have to be limits to your super-senses. What, do you have loud spiders?” Karen was still drawing on his skin, tracing the shape of what seemed to be a pair of curved bows (or arcs maybe, maybe parenthesis) facing one another on either side of his shoulders.

“I know some that are incapable of being quiet, in fact.” 

Karen ended the set by swiping a long curve, a horseshoe of suds on his back with what felt like a flourish. Foggy froze without really noticing it, tracing the last few moments back, trying to piece together something. He'd missed something, not in the discussion, something about Karen. Something important, something was... 

“I love you!” Foggy spun in the shower, almost slipping, reaching out for Karen, “I love you! You wrote- I, then a heart, only it felt like a deformed diamond at first, but-! I love you too.” 

She was wrapping her arms around him and the shower was hitting him in the face, and he was laughing into her hair. 

From outside the shower they heard a soft clink, as Matt set his razor down on the counter. 

“Oh for God's sake,” Foggy threw open the curtain, Karen still in one arm, flinging water to the ground. “Matt I love you too, she loves you too, get in here.” Matt allowed himself to be dragged into the shower, his towel falling off hips hips, smiling his best doofy smile with eyes closed against the water that ricocheted off of too many bodies in too small a space. 

“Foggy, I just got dried off, I'm half shaved...” 

“Shut up Matt, we're in love and I'm taking you both back to bed. We can't be late for work if we all show up at the same time,” Matt paused, tipping his head to the side in exaggerated contemplation.

“I'll make pancakes.”

“Sold.”


	2. She wears Samael for a patron saint.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Foggy later claimed it was the coldest night that year (it wasn't, Matt could tell, and did tell Foggy, repeatedly) when Karen had stumbled over to Matt's apartment, banging on the door without announcing herself. Foggy had let her into the dark room without a word, then slumped back onto the sofa, glaring at the chair across from him in the flickering light from the billboard.
> 
> “Are you drunk Karen?”
> 
> “No,” she dropped her bag on the kitchen table. “But I ought to be”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, sorry it's un-beta-ed again. Is that a word? Again, any mistakes are all mine. 
> 
> Criticism appreciated, except of the OT3 itself because, common, these three deserve nice things and hot sex. Unfortunately in this chapter they get neither! MUAHAHA!

Sometimes, occasionally, she felt left out. Like she'd missed the lead-up to a years-long joke. Like she'd walked into an this beautiful 50 year old marriage, full of snark and love and long silent glances across the kitchen table. She understood all that, after all Foggy and Matt had know each other for all of their lives it seemed. Not literally, maybe just for all of their lives that mattered. She couldn't be sure.

Foggy later claimed it was the coldest night that year (it wasn't, Matt could tell, and did tell Foggy, repeatedly) when Karen had stumbled over to Matt's apartment, banging on the door without announcing herself. Foggy had let her into the dark room without a word, then slumped back onto the sofa, glaring at the chair across from him in the flickering light from the billboard. Her feet slipped a little as she dropped her purse carelessly.

“Are you drunk Karen?”

“No,” she dropped her bag on the kitchen table. “But I ought to be”

Foggy stood up suddenly and stormed past her, she was frozen for a moment. Was he mad, was he throwing her out of the apartment? She heard the refrigerator snap open and bottles bang together. Foggy stomped past her to the sofa, shoving a bottle of beer into her hands on the way past.  
  
“Me too.”

“What exactly are you doing here anyway?” Karen opened her bottle and sat next to Foggy, trying to be the calm in his storm. It seemed, from his not-so-subtle indications thus far, that his day had been awful too.

“I don't know. Sitting shiva maybe. We'll see.”

“What? Is everything okay?”

“It's fine,” Foggy looked directly at her, finally, for the first time that night. And for a moment she thought he was earth-cold marble, and she barely recognized him. Then like someone falling asleep he just melted, eyes gone soft and blinky. She opened her arms and he shuffled forward silently.

“Oh Froggy.”

There was an awkward migration from standing to leaning, then somehow they were laying full length on the sofa, their clothing slowly wrinkling between them and the terrible plaid upholstery. She was perversely grateful, that she could be here for him, that someone was here to hold him when Matt (and where was Matt exactly?) apparently couldn't be. She let the silence stretch for as long as she could stand it.

“Froggy?”

“Yeh?” his voice was soft with grief.

“I want to make sure you're okay,” She gently rubbed circles into his sweat damp dress shirt. “And that Matt's okay. I know that this thing we have, it's. Fragile. And I don't want to mess it up by prying into anything going on between you and Matt that's not my business-”

“It is your business, though. I think that what we're.... Doing, whatever we've working for here, it's not three separate relationships. Or, well it is, but it's also one big relationship. It's your business.” He sat up gingerly, removing himself from her arms.

“Okay,” she stayed there, plastered to the back of the sofa. “But you don't have to tell me anything. I just want to know what I can do to help, if I can help. I love you.”

“I love you too, Kare. We'll be okay.”

“I know.”

Foggy stood, brushing her hair back gently from her face with an attempt at a smile. Karen wriggled her shoulders into the sofa, and closed her eyes listening to Foggy rattle plates while doing something in the near-dark kitchen.

 

* * *

 

She woke to a quiet conversation held somewhere below her feet. She could tell Matt was home, and that the conversation wasn't an argument, wasn't heated. For a few moments she let herself soak that in, enjoying the hum of the voices she was so in love with.  
  
“... But are you sure tonight, like this?”

That one confused her a little, were they going to talk about this Matt-and-Foggy thing?

“Well it's moot now. She's already woken up.”

She opened her eyes, blinking through eyelashes and past the arm of the sofa at the silhouettes of Matt and Foggy at the foot of the stairs. One of them was moving toward her, Foggy she decided based on the outline of sofa-mussed hair.

“Mmmh,” She stretched, luxuriating in her residual exhaustion. “There are my boys. How'd you know I was waking up, did I stop snoring or something?” She laughed under her breath, slowly sitting up against the couch.

“No,” Foggy paused in his walking toward her, nervous. Making her nervous. Matt hadn't moved at all in the dark beyond the other man. Her residual sleepiness vanished suddenly and she straightened in her seat. “I'd bet he probably heard your heartbeat and breathing change.”

Now Matt moved in that darker space, against the wall that not even the boisterous billboard could fully illuminate. He was opening the cabinets, she thought, maybe getting undressed. Out here, not the bedroom?

“Karen, we need to have what's honestly likely to be a serious and no-fun conversation.” Foggy sat on one of the chairs across from her, staring at his hands. Not making eye-contact. Matt was still shuffling something in the cabinets.

“Okay, lets talk.” Maybe they were breaking up. Maybe this wasn't as functional a relationship system as she thought, maybe Matt and Foggy worked but Karen was just an ingredient too much. Maybe they had wanted to be together, and she'd gotten in the way of that. Somewhere in the back of her skull she realized she was heartbroken, that she wanted to scream, but that wouldn't do any justice to these men, her brave boys, and if they were breaking up she wanted to do this right. She would not scream, or even cry (at least not that much) over her boys. They deserved better than that, and really hadn't it been unrealistically optimistic for them to think that they could make this work, two men who were perfectly functional and her still mostly frayed on all her edges?

“She's starting to hyperventilate.”

“What?” She registered Foggy looking up at her in her peripheral vision, but it was Matt's face that filled her vision, without his glasses, she thought.

“Hey, come on Karen, stay here with me. We're okay, it's alright,” He was kneeling in front of her, hands on her knees, and when had he gotten all the way over here anyway? “It's not that kind of conversation, we three are going to be fine... If you want us to be. Come back to us.” He kept up a low murmur of one-sided conversation as she gasped broken breaths, following Matt's voice back from the edge of panic. Watching his mouth move, tracing the flushed bow of his lips, watching his eyes catch the light from his side lighting up the edge of one iris like gold. These were good calming things, she thought. 

“Matt,” she blinked at his face. At some point during the monologue Foggy had come to sit beside her, perched on the edge of the sofa a good space away, and she felt his hand join Matt's on her leg, a small heavy stone of comfort. She willed herself still. “Matt what happened to your face?”

Matt looked away from her, in his own way, his whole face turning slightly toward the window. He sat back in silence for a few moments. Foggy's hand stayed on her thigh, unmoving. She stared at the bruise slowly rising under his cheekbone lit now even more clearly by the street light, at the thin line of blood that glistened on his split lower lip which she hadn't seen at first.

“I got into a fight. The other guy got a good punch in before I knocked him out.”

“Oh,” and as she said it she felt the room become real again, like all the color had just come back to the scene. She looked past Matt's mussed hair, to the black athletic shirt he had on. Past that to the weird red and black pants, which she recognized. Slowly. “Oh!”

Matt's face was obviously frozen with pure willpower. He showed no reaction. The pieces slowly fit into place for her. It took time, the process of understanding: recognize the color of the clothing he was wearing, the pushed-down cowl at the back of his head, then the quick series of memories shuffled past cataloging the bruises and scars she'd seen pass by. 

“You saved my life!” Matt did move then, his whole head jerking slightly back to face her. “You knew I was lying about the Union Allied file, and you looked out for me. You took me in and you saved my life, you-” She leaned forward and pressed a light kiss to Matt's admittedly slightly sweaty forehead. "... Thank you." 

On her leg Foggy's hand sat unmoving, a small dead bird waiting to be seen. She pulled away from Matt and looked over, seeing the blank expression on Foggy's face. It took a beat, her mind running laps again and trying to understand this, but after a few moments of silence something flipped. As quickly as she had gone from confusion to gratitude, she felt outrage sweep in and obliterate everything else.

“OH!” She stood, Matt jumping back just in time to stop from being thrown back. He sat on the floor, legs akimbo, and she towered over him. “Foggy knew! He knew and you left him alone here! How dare you!” She jerk forward, her hair brushing Matt's face as she leaned in to him, fists clenched at her sides. “You left him here, alone, to worry for you! To worry alone! How could you?”

“Karen, I know you feel betrayed” Matt tried to move shifting gingerly on what she was sure were exhausted and bruised arms.

“No Matt, I do not feel betrayed." 

"Karen, I wanted to protect you-" 

She snapped "Listen, I'm sure I will feel upset and properly lied to later, but right now I am furious at you for entirely different reasons,” She paced angrily in front of the man on the ground, glaring daggers at his split lip, his ripped shirt, his stupid pants. “Matt you left him here. You left him. 'Sitting shiva,' he said! Waiting to find out if you were alive or dead while you run around risking your life! What if you had died out there Matt? What if they never found you? Beyond whether or not I think it's fair that you put us through that to begin with, think about that Matt: if you were never found,would Foggy have told me what happened? Would he have kept your stupid secret? When I wanted to put out a missing persons alert because you'd been gone for days, he'd have had to decide, do I tell her he's probably dead? Do I let her think he's just missing? If you had died tonight, you would have left Foggy alone with this god damned dumb knowledge and fear! How dare you!”

Matt face ahead, eyes fixes into the middle ground as ever. His face was slowly crumbling, but Karen tried not to register that.

“You left him alone! Alone, Matt!”

“Karen,” and there was Foggy, sitting at the edge of the couch, tears shining yellow from the streetlights. Her fury crumbled and she wrapped herself around him, holding him, letting him cling to her.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, it's not my place.” She rocked him mindlessly.

“No. I- It's just. I love you. I love you both.”

“I love you too Foggy,” she looked over his shoulder at the man still strewn all over his own living room floor, “And Matt. I'm furious at you, but I love you.”

Matt's head swung toward her, as he shifted his arms. He slowly smoothed his features, and sat up more rigidly, groaning slightly. Foggy withdrew from Karen, looking over at their vigilante and sniffling. Silence stretched out in front of them heavy with thoughts none of them wanted to claim. No one spoke, or moved as their breathing gradually normalized.

“Alright,” Karen rubbed one last circle into Foggy's shirt, then stood and walked the few paces over to Matt. She reached down, tapping his arm with her hand to help him locate where she was, “Let's get you up, Matt, and look at that lip.”

Matt allowed her to help pull him upright and steer him out of the living room. On her way past she gently kicked Foggy's shoe, “You too handsome. Come wash that face and help me look after our superhero boyfriend.”

“Okay,” Foggy sniffed one last time and stood, turning away to wipe his eyes discretely. “I'm gonna just, uh, turn some lights on. I'll be right in.”

At her direction Mat sat down carefully on the edge of the bathtub and began to shrug out of his shirt. Karen noticed his lack of normal reaching as he navigated the small room, but decided they could address that later. She opened the small cabinet, reaching for the large emergency kit, trying to ignore the bitter thought that it was a very large kit for home use and wasn't that both funny and not funny at all.

“I do love you, you know. Both of you,” Matt half murmured it, balling his shirt up in one hand.

Karen looked over the man in front of her, listening to her other love shuffle something in the kitchen and nodded. She thought for a minute about the apartment, how her bright blue toothbrush might look in the bathroom, the pillows on the floor where she and Foggy had moved them to make room on the sofa for cuddles. The cold beer in the fridge they would drink in near silence tonight while Karen cooked something to make sure no one starved. The large bed done up in grey silk that they would all climb into tonight, and the arms and hands and soft spots behind ears she loved. She nodded once at Matt.

“I just nodded,” she smiled the words. “Because I know. And I love you, and Foggy. I'm sure I will have a million questions, and I'm sure I'm still mad at you. But I love you. So all of that can just wait.”

Foggy came in a few minutes later, eyes completely dry, and found them there. Matt still seated, leaning his head into Karen's stomach as she stood and gently carded her hands through his hair. She could tell he tried to let the moment last he really did, but-

“Matt you're lip is bleeding all over Karen's sweater.”

“Shut up Foggy.”

“Oh, Karen, I'm so sorry!”

“It's fine, I can buy a new one. Unlike your face: lord Matt, did this guy who 'landed a punch' have steel skin?”

“No but, funny story.”

“Is it actually funny or is it going to make Karen more upset?”

“I do reserve the right to use hydrogen peroxide on this cut, don't you think I won't.”

And while this was not the ideal end to her rather grizzly day, it was a good ending because her boys were right here, and we safe. And that was always going to be a win.


	3. Forgive me, they were delicious.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt loved that Foggy was utterly guileless. Without guile. Matt wasn't sure that his partner could lie convincingly on pain of death, which ought to have been worrying or unnerving but was really simply endearing.

Matt loved that Foggy was utterly guileless. Without guile. Matt wasn't sure that his partner could lie convincingly on pain of death, which ought to have been worrying or unnerving but was really simply endearing. 

And right now Foggy was staring. Matt could tell this because his heart was speeding, his papers weren't moving, and Matt was starting to pick up on trace sweat on the other mans palms. He was sure Foggy had no idea how easily Matt noticed. Oh, to be sure Foggy was aware of all the things Matt could potentially notice, but it had become just a fact of life to Foggy over time: Matt was blind, Matt could tell if you were lying, Matt was his best friend. And the more he lived with that, the more grateful Matt was that Foggy didn't really have think about it. That this had become their new normal. 

It had been hot, not record-setting hot but no one enjoyed August, not really. The air conditioning in the building was working, it would have been too hot to function if it wasn't, but the tiny wall mounted unit in the main room just didn't do enough. The options for the last week had been open all the windows for breeze and suffer together, or shut them to run the AC unit by Karen's desk and just suffer the other rooms sweltering conditions. Matt and Foggy had agreed by unspoken consensus to leave the AC on and suffer the more stagnant heat in the rest of the office for the sake of Karen: she was miserable in this weather, and the way Matt figured he and Foggy were used to terrible overheated-dorm-room conditions. The conference room was just those few degrees cooler then their offices, so they'd taken to simply working across from one another for now. 

So Karen sat in relative comfort, cheerfully busy all the day and able to keep working while Matt and Foggy were slowed and half-sleepy the whole afternoon. And now it was an hour after lunch and the office still had the lingering odor of the ice-tea they'd all deemed necessary with their cold cuts. 

So with warm-weather lethargy slowing his brain, Matt listened to the movement of paper on Foggy's desk slow gradually over the course of a half hour, listened to Foggy wet his lips with the last few sips of sweet tea, listened to the little swish of Foggy's hair when he looked up. The air outside was heavy, and what little street noise there was seemed quieter in the heat. 

Matt licked his lips, tasting the air with his teeth. He stretched slightly, rolling his shoulders in the soft linen shirt. T he fabric shifted and sighed in Matt's ears. His hands fluttered up his arms, rolling his sleeves up to the elbow, his forearms flexing slightly as his wrist turned the cloth.

The was the sound of a glass touching the desk as Foggy set down the now empty cup of tea. The slight whistle of air through the fan in the main room almost downed out the uneven inhalation as the glass hit the wood. 

Matt repressed his smirk quickly, disguising it as a yawn and a slow stretch. His hands scrubbed through his hair, momentarily hooking the arm of his glasses. So with deliberate care Matt pulled them to the side, folding the arms and setting them carefully above his papers. The thump of Foggy's heart sped as Matt rubbed the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger. Matt raised his head, feeling the sun striking his face, reflecting off the windows of the building next door. He could almost feel the heat of the light catch in his eyes, the warmth spreading under his eyelashes. Which of course was a very cheap shot, because for whatever reason Foggy was just in love with Matt's eyes.

And there it was, Matt felt the subtle change in body temperature from across the table as the flush rose in Foggy's cheeks. The sheer satisfaction left Matt smirking in the sunshine. 

“Oh my GOD, Matt: screw you!”

Matt gave up finally, threw his head back and laughed loudly. 

“You and your dumb duck face, you knew, you knew exactly what you were doing! You are such a jerk, why do I even put up with you?”

“Because,” Matt stood with the scrapes of folding-chair on linoleum and leaned over the table, “I'm just so damnably good looking.” 

Foggy spluttered an outraged noise then pulled Matt gently down into a slow kiss, fingers dancing along the short cropped hair brushing the edge of Matt's collar. 

“Hey! Are you seducing Foggy again!” 

Foggy managed to pull back and make a few more loud and indignant noises. 

“Well stop it, we have a meeting in 10 minutes and I am not fixing anyone’s tie again. Keep your clothes on, boys.”

“But Kaaaren-” Matt whined, combing down Foggy's hair. 

“Be good, get rewarded,” she called. “There are ice-pops in the freezer at home. The good organic kind.” 

Matt shrugged and moved to sit again, but Foggy pulled him in close one last time. Foggy pinched the points of the other man's collar gently between thumb and forefinger, just a suggestion of confinement and smiled with his iced-tea-cold lips inches from Matt's. 

“Mmh, ice-pops, I love ice-pops. Probably strawberry, because come on, who doesn't love strawberry. We can all go home, have a nice salad for dinner. Then, Matt, I think I'm going to tie you up and let Karen eat strawberry ice-pops off you.” 

And just like that Foggy was back to work and shuffling papers, and Matt was trying to remember how to just sit down, face flushed and jaw slack, wondering if his little plan had backfired utterly or succeeded spectacularly.


	4. Like the Sound of Many Waters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karen isn't the best with words at times. That's why she's not a Lawyer. Well, it's one of the many reasons, to be honest... But she's very good at expressing herself, sometimes leaving her little Avocados in a state of surprise and wonder.

It was almost ironic that Matt's kisses were so precise and well placed. That he never wasted contact or touch with clinging or lingering. Touch was intentional, had a purpose, was not wasted on just any moment. Karen did not have that problem, she was all lingering hands and fingers just for the sake of warmth. No one minded the lack or abundance of contact: these kinds of relationships were hard enough without getting neurotic about how much or how little physical contact was the just right amount. 

So she'd woken this morning to find she and Foggy were tangled up like two salamanders. And there was Matt's hand resting on Foggy's chest, one arm extended at a crooked angle to drape over the both of them like some dead thing. 

She shimmied down the length of Foggy, breathing silent gratitude that both men slept so soundly. She slowed, panting breath against Matt's fingers for a moment. Then with practiced delicacy she gently began kissing the tip of each and every finger.

Foggy snorted, and turned into the pillow she'd vacated slightly, so Karen use the opportunity to gently lift Matt's wrist and kiss her way further up his arm. She covered every spot that mattered to her, every single place she could bless with her lips. The little scar above his wrist-bone from the time he'd slipped last year and the bottle he'd been holding had shattered in his hand. The long puckered scar running down from his elbow he'd never explained at all. She pressed her face into his palm. 

“Thank you,” she murmured to his palm. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” 

Foggy shifted again and Karen rolled slowly away and out of the bed. Her feet hit the cold cement floor and she blinked away any sleep remaining in her eyes. They had a long day stretching out in front of them, she wanted to start things right. 

~~~

Foggy was in the shower, singing loudly though it barely carried out into the living room, when Matt sat down beside her. His hand brushed through her hair as she continued to read the paper. 

“Why were you thanking me?” 

“I wasn't,” Karen chewed her last bite of toast and slowly folded the paper closed. She sipped the last dregs of coffee, “I didn't think you were awake yet. I was just... Expressing my gratitude.” 

“To whom?” Matt's smile was half confusion. 

“To each and every scar you've made, for scarring, and healing. And not being the last.” 

Matt kissed her then, both well and carefully, his hands tangled up in her shirt and hair. Foggy saw them on his way into the bedroom, and smiled, keeping his movements in the small house hushed for now. He dressed quietly and with a smile while remembering the flash of Matt's hands tracing lines across Karen's palms in the almost sacred quiet of early morning.

**Author's Note:**

> No beta, so feel free to point out any errors.  
> Second fic ever posted, first here on Ao3, so constructive criticism (however harsh it needs be) is welcome. Seriously. Even if you're mean, I'm gonna keep writing my trash fluff, promise.


End file.
